Lest we Forget
by AngelWing1138
Summary: To you from failing hands we throw; the torch be yours, to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who died, we shall not sleep, though poppies grow; in Flanders Fields.


A/N: I have been making a lot of Final Fantasy VII fanfics lately, haven't I? I guess that's because Zack and Cloud have been perfect for a lot of things lately, but this one just took the cake. It's quickly written, something I haven't done in a while, and it's basically just the end of Crisis Core as well as a bit of extra. But overall, I'm happy with it.

So, I hope everyone has a good Remembrance Day, or a good Veteran's Day for the Americans. Never forget the people who have served our country(ies) to protect and ensure we have what we have today.

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square Enix. 'Flanders Fields' belongs to Lt. Colonel John McCrae.

* * *

_In Flanders Fields the poppies blow  
Between the crosses row on row_

It was hard to hurry to safety when the companion you were protecting was little more than dead weight in heavy SOLDIER armour. The barely walking feet, the head lolling doll-like against his neck, the faint breathing that assured him he was still _alive_ and not just _there_…it all made things very difficult.

But he didn't care. He would carry his treasured deadweight to safety and protect him with all he had.

And he had a lot.

_That mark our place and in the sky  
the lark, still bravely singing, fly  
_

He found a nice little niche in the craggy rocks. Carrying his load and not regretting any decision he had made up until this moment, he rested the blond into the crevice the rocks made, hiding him from potential danger until he could collect him again. He crouched down beside him for a moment, simply staring at his vacant expression, spiky blond hair and glassy blue eyes, before he grinned and reached out.

Ruffling his hair like he always did, imaging an indignant squawk coming from him for a moment, he let go and stood up. He then looked around, knowing where he had to go. He had to defend the fort, keep them safe, get them to safety.

And he would do just that.

As he walked away, he didn't notice the hand reaching out to him to stop him.

_Scarce heard amidst the guns below_

He stopped in front of an entire battalion of them, seeing endless numbers of enemies and wondering why so many were after just the two of them. He wondered if that doctor who had always given him the creeps had put something rare and important in their blood stream. He smirked at the thought; wouldn't that just serve him right? Human experimentation was an unsure deal.

You never knew when the specimens would escape and bite you later on.

Shaking his head at his thoughts, he sighed, looking back at the infantrymen he'd probably once trained under careful instruction. Let's see if they took what he had to teach seriously.

_We are the dead, short days ago,  
Lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow_

The sharp blade cut through another body, spilling more blood. A few flecks landed on his cheek but he ignored it, wondering when it would dry and itch and bother him enough to deal with it in battle. With these stray thoughts, he spun to his next opponents and lifted his arm, causing the earth to rumble and shake before ripping the life out of the enemy. He smiled as he recognized three of them.

_Love and were loved and now we lie  
In Flanders Fields_

He was starting to get tired. Just so horribly, horribly tired. His shoulders were sagging, and he wished he could take a break, like in those simulation rooms where if he died it was just a run-out of energy and not a cut-off from a heartbeat.

He barely managed to avoid a flash bomb, spitting blood out of his mouth before he lifted his hand and summoned a beast of destruction, hoping it would aid him. He watched as fire surrounded the area, burning the infantrymen to cinders.

He prayed for their families' forgiveness and knew he didn't deserve it since he didn't really mean it.

_Take up our quarrel with the foe  
To you from failing hands we throw_

There were only three of them left.

Three of the luckiest men in the world, because he had just run out of energy.

Gritting his teeth, he attempted to lift his sword and charge at them to quickly end this and sleep for a million years. Yet he stopped dead in his run when the first painful bullet hit his side. Gasping, his sword dropped into the earth, still barely held up by shaking fingers as it started to rain lead and copper and iron.

_The torch, be yours to hold it high  
If ye break faith with us who died_

Dropping to his knees, he wondered briefly if he should pray for salvation.

He really just wanted to pray that he had had a phoenix down prepared when he entered this stupid fight.

Looking up, he watched as a small infantryman, who looked so much like the blond when he was active and quirky and smiling, lifted his rifle to take aim.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

_We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_

It always had to rain in these moments, didn't it?

He laughed wryly to himself, wincing as his bullet holes pumped out blood faster because of his ill-placed mirth. Sighing, his fingers erratically clutched to the handle of his sword, making him wonder what the original owner would have thought of his treatment of it.

He hoped there wouldn't be any damage, else he'd get a scolding when he saw his mentor next. He had a feel that it would be soon.

Sensitive ears that had been listening to the sound of his own death for the last few minutes picked up a new sound, and he laughed again, louder, as he saw a blond head of hair come crawling towards him with a strength he hadn't had since five years ago.

Of course. _Of course_ he'd be all right in the worst possible moment.

Fingers unintentionally clutched the handle again, and he wondered if his mentor would mind him passing the heirloom down again.

He thought he wouldn't.

_In Flanders Fields_

The day was dry, hot, and completely inappropriate.

_What's wrong with it?_ His companion asked, looking at him with curiousity as he scoffed at the day. She held the hand of a young girl, barely 11 and looking too much like her guardian to be comfortable. By his side was a young man almost 13, looking sullen and solemn and respectful because he knew that's how his guardian wanted it to be for this day.

Shaking his head, he stepped to the spot covered in wild flowers, placing down the gift he had brought with him. Crouching beside the yellow blooms, he closed his eyes and remembered a warm smile, gentle hands and a voice that always brought him out of his self-deprecating funks.

His best friend in the entire world.

He stood up and nodded to himself, smiling a bit as he thought he felt a familiar hand ruffle up his hair in the wind. He then turned and left the cliff edge, allowing his companions to follow him.

Amidst the yellow flowers was a single red ribbon tied around a white flower.

_Lest we forget._


End file.
